“Hey,” I say, taking a seat on an island stool. “Did anyone call for me?”“Your dad and I had a great day; thanks for asking.” Mom smirks.“How was your day? Did anyone call for me?” I smile.She dumps a gob of coconut oil into her raw-ful mixture. “Anyone meaning Ben?”“Am I that transparent?”“It’s just that I was sixteen once, too.”“Right,” I say, shuddering even to think of her pre-forty, pre-me, pre-Dad, when it was just her hippie self, burning incense, going braless, and dating poets.”

“I clear my throat, realizing how little I’ve accomplished during this conversation. “So, everything with you is great?” I say in a final attempt to get some scoop. “No problems? No demons in your closet? Nothing weird going on?”“What’s up with you?” he asks, double-dipping a fry. “You were like this on the phone the other day, too.”“Just making conversation.”“Psycho conversation, maybe.”“Speaking of psychos,” I half joke. “Anyone in your life I should know about?”“Just one,” he says, giving me a pointed look.”

“But I’m not letting you off so easily. Did you hear something that I should know about?”“No,” I say, suddenly feeling more self-conscious than I ever thought possible.“So, then, is this just an excuse you’ve devised to call me? Because, trust me when I say that you need no excuses. I love hearing from you.”

“Did you and dad eat the raw-violi I left in the fridge?”“Sort of. I mean, we considered eating it. It made its way onto the table. But we ended up having the rest of the rawkin’ raw-sagna instead. (Rawkin’ raw-sagna: a sorry excuse for a real lasagna made with uncooked squash slices, tomatoes, and cashew paste, and served on—what else?—Elvis dinner plates). I don’t have the heart to tell her that dad chucked both dinners and ordered us a pizza.”

“And what did it say?” I ask, almost expecting to hear him tell me, “Soon.”“Check the bed.” His voice cracks saying the words.“Excuse me?”“That’s what it said.”“And what’s it supposed to mean?”“Call me crazy, but I think it might mean that I should check my bed.”“Not funny.”“Who’s laughing? I’m paranoid about going home now. I’m having major flashbacks to summer camp. You know, itching powder in the bedsheets, snakes under the pillow, getting your hand dipped into a bowl full of water while you sleep—”

“I’m just really glad to hear that things are going well.”“Wait, you’re not getting ready to hang up on me, are you?” he asks. “We’ve only been talking for a couple minutes.”“Well, I don’t really have much else to say.”“Are you kidding? The possibilities are endless. For starters, you could tell me that you’ll call me again. Or, better yet, you could ask me out for coffee or a slice of pizza. Of course, letting me know that I can call you whenever I want is always a good possibility. Or, if you’re feeling really generous, you could tell me that you miss me, too. I mean, I wouldn’t even care if it was a lie.”

“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t want to lose him.”“Then maybe you should go away for a little bit. After all, absence makes the heart grow horny, right?”“That’s not exactly how the saying goes.”“But it should, because you know it’s true. If you go away for a couple of days, Ben won’t know what to do with himself.”“Maybe you’re right,” I say, tossing more candy corn into my mouth (therapy in a bag). “Damn straight, I am. Now, the biggest question: Can I fit into your suitcase? Because I really don’t feel like staying here by myself.”